Sweeter Than Evil ||| Cregan Stark

forty

There was only one man in the world who could pretend to be Ser Erryk and succeed.

"Princess..." the tone of Ser Arryk's voice changed and his body relaxed when he realized he had been found out. "I... am sorry. Please know that even if you do not believe it."

Daenys steeled herself and held her head high, looking around for anything she could use to defend herself. "If you are going to try and kill me, Ser Arryk, you might at least have the decency to look me in the eye while you do so."

Ser Arryk was only honouring his vows as he saw fit, to heed the command of the King and the Prince Regent in the event that the King was incapacitated. In his eyes, it did not make him dishonourable. Heeding Daenys' request, Ser Arryk reached up and removed his helm, allowing it to clatter to the floor with a clang.

"Mother, please forgive me," Arryk whispered as he unsheathed his sword, the metal of the blade clinking with the metal of his scabbard.

"Perhaps she will. I will not." Daenys knew it was truly life or death for her. Fighting messy was the only way for her to win that fight. She needed a weapon and that was very clear to her.

Her situation and chances were very poor as they were. Let alone that Daenys was unarmed, wearing a dress, and caught off guard. The quick survey of the hall was the only thing that stood to help her win the fight against Ser Arryk if she wanted to live.

Usually, Daenys wouldn't be the first one to make a move. But when she was unarmed and facing a man with a sword, she had to move and get herself some kind of weapon.

She and Ser Arryk stared at one another, both frozen in place, until Daenys shot forward to the side. It was a risk, as she knew the knight would follow her, but Daenys needed the weapon she went for, which was the torch on the wall. The torch wasn't lit since it was midday but it was the only object Daenys had access to. She jumped and ripped the dragon-shaped metal out of its place, pulling it close to her body and spinning on her heel to face Arryk as he came for Daenys with his sword raised.

Her weapon was not ideal but it was all she had. Instead of treating it as what it was—a torch—Daenys chose to think of it more like a very, very short sword. The same rules of battle applied; keep away from her opponent and only try to strike when there was an obvious opening. Without any armour, Daenys understood that the possibility of her being cut was high. Being cut and dying were two different things, however.

It was a shame Daemon never made Daenys put on a dress and fight on the beach with him. Trying to move adequately and parry Arryk's swings was difficult with her arms constricted by tight fabric, let alone the fact that her skirt almost tripped her when Daenys all but jumped away from one of his swings.

Ser Arryk was relentless in his assault on Daenys. Her heart was thunderous in her chest as she tried to avoid him, limbs moving desperately to try and protect herself. Her torch was of little use, being so heavy in her hands that her forearms burned. Ser Arryk was a member of the Kingsguard; he was a fantastic warrior facing a woman who was unarmed and scrambling.

The outcome wasn't ideal for Daenys but there was nothing else for her to do. If she could get him to hesitate then maybe. As it stood, she couldn't swing her torch and parry his sword forever. If she could get him to hesitate, she could survive.

"Is this what you swore an oath to do?" Daenys asked, staring Ser Arryk down as she twisted away from his sword, the blade catching on her skirts and cutting the outermost layer. "You swore an oath to kill a Princess on the whim of a drunken cunt?"

He didn't reply but Daenys could tell she was getting to him. Ser Arryk didn't stop going for Daenys, becoming more lethal with each unsuccessful swing, but he was pulling his punches. It was that which extended Daenys' life.